


Reunion

by rachel2205



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rachel2205/pseuds/rachel2205
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If you were disappointed on page 129 when Miller describes Achilles and Patroclus's reunion night together as a "bounty of hours that never ran dry" but didn't elaborate, maybe this fic is for you. Boy-on-boy sex, intense teenage heroic Greek feels.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jouissant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jouissant/gifts).



> I was surprised that I matched my assignee, jouissant, on two different book fandoms. So I decided to write her fics for both. I submitted the other as the official assignment, but wrote this one at the very last minute. Jouissant, you asked for: "This book was really good for me in terms of "I thought I'd lost you forever" reunions, so if you'd like to go crazy with that and forge ahead where Miller fades to black, I'd be totally down. Give me all the feverish teenage demigod porn!" I hope this fic scratches that itch a bit, at least. I decided on writing it from Achilles's perspective because you like Patroclus so much, and I thought you'd enjoy seeing him through Achilles's eyes.

I had never known fear until Deidameia whispered “I’m pregnant.” I was already turning to Patroclus then – and he turned away, shrugging, an “enough” on his breath. Fear stopped up my chest and I moved too slowly, clumsy as I had never been before, dress tangling around my legs. I seized his arm; words tumbled from my mouth, clumsy as I had been in running after him, one stupid excuse after another. It was my mother. My mother. “What can she do, kidnap me?” I had said, laughing, back on Mount Pelion. I had been a fool. In more way than one, it turned out, because Patroclus told me that my mother had never told him where I was, never given him a message as she had promised she would do if I bedded the king’s daughter. “It was for nothing,” said Patroclus, and my stomach was a stone inside me. He had always understood people better than I could. 

He looked at me for a long time. I watched his face, holding my breath, trying to read his mind. Ever since my birthday night, in the crystal cave, I had not had to guess at his thoughts. We had touched, and known. I had been so lonely here without him; I was lonelier now, watching the blank wall of a face that refused to give up its secrets. But at last something in him shifted, and he said:

“There is nothing to forgive,” and I sagged in against him with relief. His hand went to my hair, crushing the curls Deidameia’s handmaiden had set, and I made a low dry sound in my throat. His other hand moved to my waist, found the place my dress was torn open. After a moment his fingers moved inside it, and I shuddered hard, body arching toward him.

“Not here,” he said, after a sweet straining moment. He cleared his throat, and I touched his face. Patroclus. “Where?”

“Come,” I said, stepping back, holding the torn parts of my dress together, to keep up the pretence that I was Pyrrha. It was enough to fool a guard, who looked at my tousled hair and grinned at Patroclus, man-to-man, and showed us to the guest quarters. Patroclus shut the door, and I waited for the sound of the guard’s footsteps to disappear down the corridor, and then I laughed.

“He’s probably expecting you to ravish me now,” I said, and tugged at a curl that had come loose, stretched it with a finger. “Perhaps he thinks you have already tried.” 

“It’s not ravishment if we’re married,” said Patroclus, smiling, and added – “am I your husband, then?”

“Of course,” I said, like a flirting girl, looking at him through my lashes. But then I straightened, pushed my hair back, and repeated soberly: “of course.” I heard him breathe in sharply, and then he put his hand on my waist. His fingers trembled, and I covered them with my own. “I’m not hers,” I said seriously. “You know that.” He had to know that. 

“I know.” 

“I said the words my mother told me to say, but they were not my words. I am not her husband.” The last words I said carefully, precisely, willing them into truth.

“But your mother – ”

“Has done enough to keep us apart. I am yours.” 

He kissed me then, ferociously, mouth forcing mine open, and I pressed in against him, kissed him back.

“Come to bed,” I murmured, fingers twisting in the front of his tunic. 

“Call me what you did before,” he said, breath hot against my ear. I shuddered, hips flexing against him. I did not have to ask what he meant; in accord again, I understood him at once.

“Husband,” I said, voice low, and he pushed me back onto the bed. Our fingers and legs tangled as we stripped off our clothing, and we laughed, breathless – until there was no room for laughing, only gasping, as we pressed against each other, his thigh between my legs, my mouth on his shoulder, teeth pressing in. It didn’t take long, that first time. Afterward I lay against him, listening to his breathing. The moon came up as we lay there, giving brighter light than the little lantern by the bed. He was silver by moonlight; he had called me golden, once. I kissed his shoulder, tasted salt. Patroclus.

“I knew you’d come for me,” I said, content. My fingers trailed in the hair at his stomach; only two moons we’d been apart, and already it was thatched thicker in the line leading down to his groin.

“You did?”

“I did.” I stretched, loose with pleasure and relief – but I could feel the tension in his muscles as he lay against me, and I turned my head to look at him. He propped himself up on an elbow.

“I thought I might never see you again,” he said, low and fierce. “I couldn’t bear it.” His hand found my shoulder, pressed it down. My heart beat hard in my throat.

“I won’t leave you again,” I said. He shifted, rolled half on top of me, and put his other hand out so that he pinned both my shoulders. I could have pushed him away quite easily; I didn’t want to. Already I could feel my prick trying to stir again.

“Swear it.”

“I – oh – swear it –” His mouth was a bruise on my throat, and I tipped my head back. He had never been like this with me; he was always passionate, but not fierce. There were teeth behind that kiss, I could feel them, and I groaned quietly, a thick sound deep in my chest. He moved down my body then, kissing my chest, my stomach, my hips; when he got further down my hand found his hair, fisted in it. He moved his mouth on me until I was gasping, hips jerking.

“Not yet,” I said hoarsely, tugging his hair, “I don’t want to yet –” 

He let go of my prick, and looked up at me. His eyes were very dark.

“I want,” he said, breathless, “I want – ” He stopped, and his face flushed a darker shade of silver.

“Anything,” I answered, “you know you can have anything.” But he did not reply, just stroked the inside of my thighs, making me twitch and shiver. 

“If this was,” he said at last, not looking at me, “our wedding night, truly, then -” He bit his lip, and slipped his finger further down. I twitched in surprise at the feel of it, and understood.

“You want to -?” We had never spoken of it. He turned his head away.

“No, I just - ” 

I sat up, reached out, caught at his arm.

“I want.”

I heard his breath hitch.

“You do?”

“I do.” I did, though I had never thought of it until now, not even with the crude jokes I had heard men make. All the things men joked about seemed far removed from what Patroclus and I did together, had together. “I want you to _have_ me.” I would give him something he could be certain Deidameia could not have. His breath came faster when I said that, and he kissed me again, hot and hard.

“Are you sure – we need – ” He looked at me helplessly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“There’s oil for the lamp,” I said calmly. “You can use that.” I had used olive oil before, on his thighs, as I thrust between them; I did not see why it wouldn’t work for this. He went for the oil and came back to the bed; his expression was all anxious wanting, and I reached up and stroked his cheek. I could give him this, my Patroclus, who had come so far for me. I started to roll over, and he stopped me.

“I’d – like to see your face, if I may.”

“Do you think we can do it like that?” I asked, surprised. “We can try,” I added, and lay back. After a moment’s thought I drew my knees up to my chest. He breathed in hard, a shuddering sound. He got the stoppered flask open; his fingers gleamed with oil. 

“Achilles - ”

“Yes.”

He used his fingers inside me, before his cock, first one, then two. I didn’t expect to like it, not for itself alone. I thought I would enjoy it for his sake, because he wanted it, and because I wanted him. But after a while the half-irritating press of his fingers built into a warmer ache, and I pressed down against him. I could hear his breath whistling through his nose, and I shifted restlessly against his fingers.

“Do it. I want you to.” 

He drew out his fingers, and I could see him trembling with eagerness from the way he fumbled with the oil flask, spilling more onto his hand. I watched him fist his prick, and I bit my lip.

“Now,” I said, impatient, and felt the head of his cock nudge up against me, start to press in. It burned fiercely, and I hissed through my teeth. Patroclus stopped at once.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again, voice thick. His arms were trembling as he held himself still above me. I made an impatient sound and wrapped my leg around him, pushed my heel into his back.

“I don’t care if you hurt me. I need you,” I said fiercely, pressing him down with my heel, and he made a low dark sound like pain and shuddered. I breathed through my teeth and pulled my other leg around him, felt him move inside me. When he was all the way in I clenched my muscles around him. Pain did not matter; this did. Holding him against me, inside me, here in the dark.

After that first long thrust it did not hurt so very much. We shifted together restlessly, until we found a rhythm, and I cried out at the surprise of it, how good it felt when he moved – just – so – 

He came hard inside me not long after that, and I made a high thin sound when I felt his prick pulse inside me. He did not let himself collapse on top of me, but instead rested on one elbow and with his other hand found my cock, moved it sure and fast. I spilled before his prick had gone completely soft inside me.

Afterwards he lay against my chest, and I stroked my fingers in the damp curls at the back of his neck, and thought about how I swore I could be famous and happy, because of him. I swore it. I swear it, always. Patroclus. Husband. Mine.


End file.
